


carefully everywhere descending

by torigates



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:24:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torigates/pseuds/torigates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The plan was the fly back home to Beacon Hills for a few weeks, then he and his dad were coming back to NYC for convocation, and Stiles was going to drive the Jeep home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	carefully everywhere descending

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rubykatewriting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubykatewriting/gifts).



Stiles yawned and stretched. His back cracked in three places, and he rolled his neck back and forth, sighing when it released the pressure that built up as he sat hunched over his computer for the last... shit, four hours. 

His clock blinked back at him indicating it was just after 3:30 am. Stiles would be surprised, except that it wasn’t actually all that surprising. It was pretty fucking par for the course, actually.

He sighed again. He had really been hoping to get this paper done tonight, but given his 8 am class (god, was _that_ ever a mistake) in less than five hours, he decided to turn in. 

Stiles rolled around on his bed for a little revelling in how good it felt to lie down, even in his admittedly disgusting sheets. 

When he finally settled in he expected sleep to come easy. He didn’t usually have problems drifting off--not anymore. There was a certain sense of security that came from living fifteen storeys off the ground with a thick line of mountain ash across his windowsill. The now familiar city sounds of NYC drifted through the cracked open window. 

He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, as if he could will himself to sleep. He snorted. That would be a handy trick to have. 

After a couple of long minutes of staring at his ceiling he rolled over and grabbed his cellphone off the stack of milk crates he was using as a bedside table. He could play a few rounds of bejeweled before he dozed off. 

Swiping his thumb across the screen, Stiles squinted at the sudden harshness of light. A text from Scott sent several hours earlier popped up. 

_Dude when are you coming home?_

Stiles smiled. It was mid May and he was excited to turn in his last assignments. He only had one exam this semester, which he supposed was a perk of being a college senior.

He smiled again at the thought of never having to write another exam, never having to write another paper unless he wanted. 

Sweet, sweet freedom was within his grasp. Stiles could almost taste it. 

_Prob about 2 weeks_ , he texted back, and tossed his phone under his pillow after checking his alarm was set. Scott definitely wouldn’t be up at this hour so he didn’t worry about him responding until morning. 

Stiles had been terrified, back at the end of high school, about going away for college. For a lot of reasons, one of which being what would happen to his friendship with Scott. It wasn’t the only reason, not by a long shot, but it had definitely made his short list of reasons not to go. 

Scott had been an alpha for barely two years, and pack bonds were tenuous at best (in fact, tenuous was probably far too optimistic a word), but Stiles was tired. Tired of being constantly scared for himself and literally everyone he cared about, tired of the supernatural, and yes, tired of werewolves. 

Stiles had and hadn’t wanted to leave, but his dad told him to go, so did Scott, and in the end he let himself be convinced. 

He hardly slept the first six months he was in the city, convinced terrible things were happening to his dad, to Scott. When he did manage to sleep, he woke drenched with sweat from nightmares he could never quite remember.

It wasn’t that different from being at home. 

Still, he got used to the city. Got used to being away from his dad, and from all the people he had known his entire life.

He didn’t--he didn’t _forget_ about the supernatural, that was impossible when Scott and his dad were sending him semi-regular updates, but the panic receded to a manageable level. Stiles met a lot of new friends in college, some who came from the supernatural world, some who had brushed up against it. Most were just plain old regular humans. 

He made a life for himself, one that didn’t involve death and danger at every turn. One that involved regular college student stressors like papers, exams, and who was buying the beer. It wasn’t something that he could bring himself to regret. 

Now it was four years later, Scott managed to take care of things in Beacon Hills and Stiles created a new life for himself in New York. 

A life he wasn’t certain he wanted to permanently leave behind. 

Stiles shook himself--this wasn’t something he needed to think about at--he glanced at the clock--4:12 am. 

His alarm blared to seriously obnoxious life three hours later, and Stiles dragged his sorry ass out of bed and made his way to campus, stopping only for a quick coffee and bagel. 

Stiles stumbled through the day and his last two weeks of college. He spent most of the time either freaking out or drunk (or both), he and his friends taking advantage of their last days living the student lifestyle. 

When his school related activities were through, all that was left to do was packing up of four years worth of accumulated junk. And there was a lot of shit to pack up. A lot. Seriously, where did all this crap even come from?

He boxed most of it up, some to be shipped back to Beacon Hills, even more to be tossed or donated. When it was all said and done what was left was a few boxes and his Jeep. The plan was the fly back home to Beacon Hills for a few weeks, then he and his dad were coming back to NYC for convocation, and Stiles was going to drive the Jeep home. 

It was surreal.

Scott met him at the airport, gathering him up into a spine crushing hug, and actually lifting Stiles up off the ground for a few seconds . He felt his spine crack all the way down and it felt amazing after hours crammed into an economy class seat. Stiles’ legs decidedly did not appreciate the small space. 

The last time he was home was at Christmas. Scott’s hair was shorter, and Stiles never really got used to the extra bulk Scott put on back when he became an alpha. 

He slapped Stiles on the back several times with gusto, smiling that familiar smile. That much at least had never changed. 

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked. “I thought my dad was coming to pick me up.” 

Scott shrugged. “He got called into work. He said he would see you at home for dinner. 

Stiles nodded and shrugged his backpack higher up on his shoulder.

They made their way through the airport and parking lot to where Scott’s car was waiting. 

“How’s it going?” Stiles asked. 

“Good,” Scott said. 

“And school?”

“Good,” he said again. “Really good. Deaton said he should be able to hire me on full time once things are final.”

“Dude,” Stiles said, and reached across to punch Scott in the shoulder. “That’s awesome! I mean, he better considering... considering everything really.” 

Scott rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything which meant he agreed. 

Stiles took a breath. “And... everything else? It’s good?” 

If someone asked him to explain it, Stiles would have been hard pressed to describe the look that crossed Scott’s face. He looked... content, maybe. Satisfied. Stiles felt a brief stab of jealousy that Scott not only managed without Stiles, but he flourished. He didn’t need Stiles, and he couldn’t help the tiny voice inside him that said maybe the reason Scott was doing so well was _because_ of Stiles’s absence. 

“It’s better,” Scott said eventually. “Much better.” He shot a grin at Stiles.

“Great, buddy,” Stiles said. “That’s great.” 

Scott launched into catching Stiles up on all the gossip, which of course meant mostly going on about Allison, but he managed to get in a few details about Isaac, Boyd, Etica, Lydia, and Jackson. 

It sounded like everyone was doing well, and Stiles was happy for them. Really. 

Scott pulled into the Stilinski driveway and killed the engine. They both jumped out, Stiles grabbing his bag, and Scott knowing better than to help him.

Stiles threw his stuff on the floor by the door. He would deal with that later. He wandered into the kitchen with Scott trailing behind him. Stiles checked the fridge--it was woefully bare, and didn’t leave him with any confidence as to his dad’s eating habits while Stiles was gone. 

“Want to order a pizza?” he asked. 

Scott nodded and they settled on the couch to play video games.

It was so weird being home. Stiles came back to visit multiple times over his four year stint in college, but it always had a very temporary feeling--there was always a finite ending to those trips. Stiles liked coming home, liked seeing his dad and Scott, but there was always that sense of longing to be back at school with his other friends and his other life. 

It felt a bit cowardly, his willful ignorance, but Stiles felt he was entitled to some selfishness. 

By the time his dad made it home Stiles and Scott had worked themselves into a food and video game coma. 

The Sheriff wandered over to the closed pizza box on the coffee table and frowned when he found it empty. 

“You didn’t save me any?” he asked. 

Stiles tried to muster up a glare. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the sorry state of your fridge, dad. I know what that means,” he said pointing. 

John rolled his eyes. “You’ve been gone a long time, son,” he said. “There’s been a new sheriff in town.” 

Then his dad laughed for five minutes at his own joke. 

 

\- 

 

Stiles spent his first few days at home doing more of the same. After the end of semester stress, he thought he deserved some sloth and gluttony. 

He came downstairs about a week later to find Scott drinking coffee at the kitchen table.

“Hey,” Stiles said, scratching absently at his belly. “Did I know you were coming?” 

Scott shook his head. “Nah man,” he said. “Surprise visit.” 

Stiles smiled and grabbed himself some coffee. When he sat down at the table across from Scott he felt that smile fall off his face.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked. “You’ve got your serious face on.”

Scott grinned, and it even reached his eyes, but there was something off about it, something he didn’t recognize even after years of friendship.

“Nothing’s... wrong,” Scott hedged. 

“But,” Stiles prompted. 

“But,” Scott agreed. “We need to talk.” 

It wasn’t a surprise, and Stiles didn’t bother asking him what they needed to talk about. His vacation from the supernatural was officially about to come to an end. 

When the alphas came, Stiles spent a lot of time hoping that everyone was going to make it it out alive. Deaton seemed convinced Stiles was some kind of spark, that his belief could make things happen, and Stiles figured if he could just focus enough he could make sure everyone was okay.

It didn’t work out like that, and despite Scott’s ideals, Stiles saw his impending alphahood looming on the horizon like a storm. There was no way to stop it, not unless Scott removed himself from the situation altogether, and as much as Stiles might have wished that he would, he knew it wouldn’t happen. He knew what was coming for Scott. 

When Scott stood over the dead alpha’s body, face and claws bloody, Stiles wanted desperately--just for a moment--for Scott to say, “I’m the alpha now,” that he burst into hysterical laughter and no one could get him to stop, to calm down, to _breathe_ , dammit. 

It should have been better after that. The alphas were gone, his dad finally new the supernatural element that was haunting Stiles’s every waking and dreaming moment. 

And for a while they made a good go of things. Maybe it was the elation that came from facing and defeating a common enemy, maybe it was the irrevocable truth that Scott would never be one of Derek’s betas, maybe it was Mercury in retrograde, Stiles didn’t know. All he knew was that for a while there they all worked together, vanquished a few common enemies (hello, Peter), and Stiles stupidly let himself believe it would be okay.

Things fell apart.

Scott as much as he wanted to be, and had the natural inclinations of a leader, despite his new alpha powers, he hadn’t been a werewolf for very long, and he didn’t like Derek. 

Being a werewolf was all Derek had ever known, and he was was used to being in a pack, was used to things being a certain way. 

Stiles knew Scott and Derek wouldn’t ever be able to successfully run a pack together, in whatever form of “pack” the wolves of Beacon Hills could fashion themselves into. 

By the time they figured that out, Stiles was already halfway out of town, so were Lydia, Jackson, Allison, and Boyd. 

Lydia made it all the way out to the east coast like Stiles, the rest stayed in California. Stiles wasn’t sure how they made things work, but they obviously did. Isaac came back after two years, Erica after three. Boyd and Jackson were due back in a month or so, and Lydia at the end of the summer.

Somehow, they all were coming back together, and it terrified Stiles because he had no idea what that would mean for his his friends. For his dad. For himself. 

“How much do you want to know?” Scott asked after several moments of awkward silence, the two of them staring at each other. “How much do you want to be involved?” 

Stiles opened his mouth. Nothing came out. 

“It’s not like it was,” Scott said, not unkindly. “It’s not all running and fighting for our lives.” 

Stiles snorted. “It’s only sometimes.” 

Scott shrugged, but didn’t deny it. 

“I don’t know,” Stiles said. “I need to think about it.” 

Scott nodded, understanding. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, Stiles. Take as much time as you need.” 

 

\- 

 

A week later, Stiles took the bus to the Sheriff’s office to meet his dad for lunch. He said hello to the deputies he knew, who were a lot fewer than in the past. 

His dad took them to the diner and ordered fries despite Stiles’s best glare. 

They ate and talked, and it was easy. When they left his dad clapped his palm over Stiles’s shoulder like he understood, and Stiles hated the thought that he might. 

John dropped Stiles off at the end of the road, deciding he would walk back the rest of the way. 

The streets were familiar enough, and busy despite the fact that it was the middle of the day. Except, instead of taking him home, his feet followed another path, equally familiar despite the fact that he hadn’t travelled it in years.

When he cleared the forest, Stiles stopped in his tracks. 

The old Hale house was... gone. 

the land was completely leveled and empty. He could hardly make out the faint outline of the old foundation, and if he didn’t know it was there he wouldn’t even be able to tell a home had ever stood there.

Scott didn’t mention if Derek was still in town and Stiles didn’t ask. Partially because he knew Scott didn’t like to think about Derek and partially because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.

Now, standing in an empty lot, Stiles realised he had been kidding himself. 

Stiles saw Derek on only three or four occasions the entire time he was away at school. The first was an incident involving kitsunes over the Christmas break his freshman year, and the only reason Stiles was involved was because there was an impromptu meeting at the Sheriff’s office, and Stiles happened to be visiting his dad at the time. 

Derek looked tired and gaunt and as beautiful as ever, and Stiles found himself wishing that the pack _had_ made it work, that he didn’t run across the entire country just to get some fucking sleep, that he could have somehow made it through without ever having to choose between Derek and Scott, between Derek and himself. 

Derek barely spared him a glance, and Stils figured Derek did what Stiles himself believed and blamed him for running away. For leaving.

After that, it was a couple chance encounters. Once, at the grocery store between his first and second years, and then again spring break of his junior year when he and Scott went to visit Isaac on his campus. Derek was there, still quiet, but less sullen than Stiles had ever seen him. Less miserable. Even smiled voluntarily a few times, and it seemed genuine enough. 

Stiles couldn’t be sure he actually saw Derek the fourth time. It was only last summer, and Allison dragged Stiles and Scott to a club, and Stiles was so drunk he could barely remember most of the night. 

But there was a half-formed memory, one Stiles convinced himself was a dream on most days, of Stiles pressed against the hallway corridor, Derek’s warm, thick body holding him up, the two of them breathing each other’s air, nothing else. 

He wanted--things. When he was feeling particularly crazy he thought about soliciting Derek’s number from Isaac, or Erica, hell, even Body might give it to him if he asked nicely enough, but what was he going to _say_ exactly? “Hey, did you almost make out with me in a club that one time?” And what if he said no? What if he said _yes_?

So he didn’t say anything, and neither had Derek, and Stiles tried to convince himself that hoping he could find some kind of closure when he came back was unnecessary. 

Now, standing in the vacant lot that used to be the Hale house he was forced to admit to himself how much of a lie that really was. And how pathetic was that? They were never friends, never lovers or anything equally melodramatic. They teamed up a few times to save Beacon Hills and each other’s necks and once maybe-- _maybe_ \--had an almost kiss in a club. 

That was it.

That was _nothing_. 

He turned his feet back towards the main road. 

 

-

 

On Stiles’s last night in Beacon Hills before flying back east for graduation he ran into Derek at the 7-11 of all conceivable places (and trust, Stiles spent more than his fair share of time imagining all the places he and Derek might run into each other, the things they might say, the things they might _do_ ). 

“Oh,” Derek said. “Hey.” 

Stiles boggled for a moment at the sheer everydayness of the sentiment. “Hi,” he said, equally mundane. 

“You’re back?” Derek asked, like he couldn’t see Stiles standing right in front of him. Like maybe Stiles was some kind of holographic program. _Help me, Derek-wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope._ Then Stiles wanted to punch himself in the face a little bit because, seriously. 

“Yep,” he said, instead of voicing any of his inner monologue, thank god. “I am indeed back.” He rocked his weight onto his heels and then forward again. 

Derek stared at him for a long moment, and Stiles... all Stiles could think about was whether or not they almost made out in a club hallway that one time. 

“Are you... done school?” Derek asked hesitantly. 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, and scratched the back of his head, awkwardly. “Kind of. I mean, I’m headed back tomorrow morning for convocation, and then I’m driving my Jeep back home, assuming it can make the trip.” He laughed. Awkwardly. “That’s a big if.” 

“Oh,” Derek said. “So when will you be back.” 

Stiles shrugged. “Not sure. Another week at least. Maybe two depending on how much driving I feel like actually doing, and how often I have to stop so the Jeep won’t overheat.” 

Derek nodded like this was sensible. It _was_ sensible, thank you very much. A person didn’t just drive from New York to California in two days. That wasn’t even possible by any standards. 

They stood in line for a few minutes, forced to make more awkward chit chat. Stiles wished he could pretend like he changed his mind about his Slurpee, but no one just changed their mind about a Slurpee. That was craziness. 

“Your house is gone,” Stiles blurted when he couldn’t take the awkward silence any longer. 

Derek gave him a long appraising look. “Yeah,” he said. “Has been for a while now.” 

Stiles nodded like that wasn’t completely new information. “I went by,” he admitted after another beat. 

Derek snorted. “Yeah,” he said. “I kind of figured.” 

Stiles desperately wanted to ask where he was living now, half afraid of what the answer would be. 

“I’m living over on King,” Derek said, voluntarily. 

If Stiles didn’t know for an _absolute fact_ that werewolves couldn’t read minds, he might be a little concerned. As it was, he just nodded. 

“With Isaac,” Derek continued, and that certainly was news. 

Despite the turmoil and conflict between the Beacon Hills werewolves and literally every other supernatural creature out there, and the turmoil within themselves, the pack had mostly managed to stay together by essentially _not_ being a pack as far as Stiles could tell (which was admittedly not very far). Neither Scott nor Derek had forced anyone to choose sides, not that it mattered with most of them going their separate ways, but Stiles always had the impression that most of Isaac’s alliances lay with Scott. 

Maybe not. 

Derek paid for his disgusting looking hotdog and (hilariously) US Weekly, and lingered awkwardly by the register while Stiles paid for his slurpee. 

They walked out of the 7-11 together, and both paused just outside the door. The Camaro was parked on the far side of the lot (Stiles remembered that Derek was weird about parking next to other cars because he was worried about getting scratches or dings. Then he felt weird about remembering that). 

“How’re you getting home?” Derek asked. 

Stiles shrugged. “Walking,” he said. “It’s not too far.” 

“Do you want a ride?” Derek asked. 

He hesitated for only a moment. “Sure.” 

The inside of the Camaro was scorching hot despite the fact that it was actually a pretty cool day. Stiles rolled down his window immediate once he was settled with his seatbelt on. He noticed Derek also rolled down his window. It was a weird thing to notice, but it made him feel more comfortable. 

They drove in near silence, neither one of them knowing what to say exactly. _Did we almost make out in a club hallway?_ was running on never ending loop in Stiles’s brain, and he had to actively bite his lips to stop himself from blurting it out. 

It was a short drive back to the Stilinski household. Only a few blocks, really. That had been the reason Stiles was willing to walk it in the first place. Derek pulled his car up the curb and left the engine running. Stiles turned in his seat to thank him for the ride. 

Derek was staring at him. And not just in a ‘oh Stiles, you so crazy’ kind of way (Stiles was used to that) or a ‘Stiles, you have something on your face’ kind of way either (sadly used to that one too), it was a little bit like ‘Stiles, I would like to kiss you and press you down on flat surfaces,’ and that one he had a little less practice being diverted his way. 

It was a bit of a shock, and that night came rushing back to him all at once, Derek pressed flush against his body in a dark hallway, and he was _nearly_ certain it wasn’t just something he had imagined or dreamed up because he wanted it to be true. 

“I guess,” Derek started, then had to clear his throat. “I guess I’ll see you later? When you get back?” 

It was the most hesitant Stiles had ever heard Derek sound. Even back when every other sentence out of Derek’s mouth was “I’m the alpha now,” he always managed to put on an air of certainty, especially when it was carefully manufactured bullshit. Maybe hearing him now sounding uncertain made Stiles feel _more_ certain. Maybe he just wanted to take something, or stop feeling so afraid, or maybe he just lost his goddamn mind. 

“Do you want to come?” he asked. 

Derek visibly swallowed. “Come?” he asked. 

Stiles chuckled nervously. “With me. To New York? And then back?” 

Derek stared at him, and Stiles considered just dropping to the floor and rolling on the ground back to his front door so he wouldn’t have to suffer any further eye contact. 

“Yeah,” Derek said. “I mean, yeah. Yeah. That sounds--good.” 

Stiles grinned. “Um, okay. Um, great. So, my dad and I are flying out tomorrow, I don’t know did you want to try and get on the same flight, or...?” 

Derek nodded and killed the engine. They went inside. 

 

\- 

 

Stiles felt his head looked exceedingly round in the dumb graduation cap. Like really super round. Was it always that round? He wanted to take it off, but his dad would probably murder him and hide the body if he didn’t get approximately twelve million photos, so he left it alone. 

Speaking of his dad, he was sitting somewhere in the stands, about to watch Stiles graduate from college. That was fucking surreal. 

Also surreal? Derek was sitting up there with him. 

“You don’t have to come,” Stiles told him for the millionth time shortly before they left Stiles’s apartment. He only had it for one more night after this, and it was starting to really sink in that college was done. Over. Finito. 

“I know,” Derek said. “I want to.” 

“Are you sure?” Stiles asked. “It’s bound to be super boring. Plus it’s going to take forever to see me cross the stage. Do you know how many people are in my graduating class? Because I sure don’t, but I’m pretty sure the answer is somewhere close to a fuckton.” 

“Hey,” his dad said. 

“Dad,” Stiles told him, clasping his hand on John’s shoulder. “I hate to break this to you, but I am an adult who swears. I’m sorry.” 

John and Derek rolled their eyes in scary synchronicity. Stiles magnanimously chose to ignore it. 

“I’m coming,” Derek said. And that was that. 

The fatal flaw, Stiles thought as he waiting for the last few people in front of them to cross the stage, was that Derek was going to learn his real name. He had forgotten to ask his dad to cover Derek’s ears when Stiles’s name was called, plus he was pretty sure it was written in black and white ink in the program anyway, and whatever Derek’s flaws he definitely knew how to read. 

Stiles had spent his entire adolescent life protecting that sucker, and now Derek was just going to find out. Like _that_. 

He sighed. 

When he crossed the stage he could hear his dad cheering, and Stiles figured it maybe didn’t matter if Derek had blackmail material for life if it meant Stiles got to hear his dad sounding _proud_ again. 

Afterwards, John made Stiles stand for the aforementioned twelve million photos. He even made Derek pose next to Stiles in some of them which was only slightly humiliating, thanks. 

He took his dad and Derek to his favourite restaurant for dinner, and his dad didn’t even bat an eye when Stiles ordered a beer with his meal. It was weird. Being an adult was weird. 

They wandered around the neighbourhood until it got too dark. Stiles pointed out all his favourite hangouts, reminiscing about some of his favourite memories while he did. 

John turned in for the night when they made it back to Stiles’s apartment. All that was left was the ratty old mattress Stiles had inherited from the apartment’s previous tenant, and even rattier couch that he had picked up off the side of the street, and several boxes that were going back to Beacon Hills in the trunk of Stiles’s Jeep. Seeing his life broken down like that was a bit staggering.

“Do you have anyone you need to see before we leave tomorrow?” Derek asked. 

At Stiles’s insistence, John had taken the mattress in the bedroom, which left Stiles and Derek sitting on the truly uncomfortable couch. 

“Nah,” Stiles said. “I’m good. I saw most of them already. Plus... okay it sounds lame but it honestly might just be too sad for me.” 

“That doesn’t sound lame,” Derek said. He looked wistful and a little sad himself. 

It wasn’t that Stiles ever really forgot just how truly tragic Derek’s story was, but sometimes it was easy to put that information on the backburner. Now, the two of them sitting side by side with Derek’s arm stretched out over the back of the couch while they talked, the tragedy of Derek’s was front and centre. Stiles thought he definitely understood what it meant to miss someone, an entire lifestyle, and he suddenly felt childish for not wanting to leave behind that which he had carved out for himself here. 

His loss was nothing compared to Derek’s. 

“You can sleep on the couch,” Stiles said. “I’ll take the floor.” Derek shook his head, but Stiles was having none of it. “Don’t even think of getting chivalrous on me, Hale. This is my apartment for one more night, and you’re my guest. You’re taking the couch, end of story.” 

Derek hesitated a moment longer, then nodded. 

In the morning, Stiles regretted his courtesy. Any aches and pains Derek would have felt from a night of sleeping on cold hardwood would have healed in seconds. Derek shot him a smirk or two, like he knew what Stiles was feeling, and it was only out of the sheer goodness of his heart that he wasn’t rubbing it in Stiles’s face. 

They dropped John off at the airport, and Stiles stood awkwardly next to his Jeep surrounded by lots of cold concrete and hugged his dad. 

“See you in a week or two, kid,” John said. 

Stiles clung to him a little tighter. 

Stopping only for Dunkin’ Donuts, they got coffee and sustenance before hitting the road. Stiles wondered again, briefly, what had possessed him to invite Derek along for this trip, and even more what made him agree, but as he sneaked a glance or two at Derek’s sleepy form hunched over in the passenger seat, he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it.

 

\- 

 

The first few hours of the drive were almost completely silent. Derek is muted and leaning against the passenger side window, and Stiles thought for a moment that he made a huge mistake. Stiles absolutely could not handle a week of silence. He just wasn’t built for it. At least if he were travelling alone he could belt out some sick tunes. 

As it stood, with Derek withdrawn and sullen next to him, he feels a little bit trapped. Caged. 

He drove silently, humming along with the music on the radio. When the crackle of static began to overtake the actual song, he rummaged through the centre console, looking for his iPod. He stashed it there before they hit the road. 

“What are you doing?” Derek asked. 

“It’s alive!” Stiles crowed dramatically. In his peripheral vision he could see Derek rolling his eyes dramatically. 

Stiles glanced up and down several times in quick succession, trying to keep his eyes on the road while simultaneously looking for his iPod. Seriously, he had just put it in there, where could that sucker have gotten to? 

“No seriously,” Derek said. “I’m a little scared for my life, what are you looking for?” 

Stiles sighed dramatically. “My iPod,” he said. “Unless you want to spend the next however long listening to this mess.” He gestured to the radio which was now belting out nothing but loud static. 

Derek batted his hand away, and rummaged through Stiles’s things until he came up with the device and the cord that would hook it up to the stereo. 

“Thanks,” Stiles said. 

Derek scrolled through Stiles’s music and the two of them lapsed back into silence. They had made it through the morning rush hour, and Stiles put the Jeep on cruise control. Took it off after five minutes for fear of actually going out of his mind with boredom. 

Stiles wasn’t in a rush to get back home, so the plan was to drive to Pittsburgh and stay the night before hitting the road again. Sometime around noon they pulled over at a truck stop to stretch their legs, take a piss, and get some food. 

Derek looked pretty ridiculous hunched into a tiny plastic booth eating a Big Mac. Stiles chuckled a little. 

“What?” Derek asked, wiping at his face a little. 

Stiles shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. 

Derek glared a little, but it had nothing of the heat he had been used to during his teen years. 

“You just look super normal and it’s freaking me out a little bit,” Stiles admitted. “Ruining your mystique.” 

Derek rolled his eyes in such an exaggerated fashion, Stiles finally understood why parents everywhere had been warning their kids that their faces might stick that way. For Derek, it was a legitimate concern. 

“What?” Derek asked, “You thought I spent most of my time prowling around, picking the bones of my victims out of my teeth. 

A little bit. “No,” Stiles told him. “Not anymore. I guess it’s just kind of weird to see you again.” 

Derek nodded. 

“So listen,” Stiles asked after yet another moment of silence. “Are you going to keep up this quiet bullshit the entire time because I am going crazy here--” he held up a hand before Derek could say anything, “Yes, ha ha, _crazier_ , thanks for that contribution.” 

Derek laughed. 

They hit the road again after that, and things were better. Stiles talked about school, and the things he had done over the last few years. Told Derek the story about how he managed to set one of his roommate’s rice cooker on fire accidentally--to the point of actual flames. It was a thing that could happen, apparently. 

Derek talked about how he had taken up building custom furniture of all things, and he was running a pretty lucrative business out of a shop over on Fifth Line. It was disgustingly attractive, and Stiles bit down on the urge to ask, ‘did we almost make out that one time?’ over and over again. 

They didn’t talk about the supernatural once, and Stiles couldn’t help but sigh a little in relief. 

The rolled into Pittsburgh just after three in the afternoon, and checked into a cheap motel. Derek wanted to go to the zoo of all places, so that’s what they did.

“I kinda thought that zoos would be out of the question, what with the whole...” he held his hands up like claws and bared his teeth. 

“Scott’s a vet,” Derek said, deadpan. And oh. Yeah. 

“Right,” Stiles said, nodding. 

They wandered around for a couple hours. Derek was stupidly enchanted by the giraffes. Stiles loved elephants, and told Derek a story about how once when he was little his parents had taken him to zoo while on vacation and the trainer had made all the elephants sway back and forth in tandem to a beat so it looked and sounded like they were dancing. 

“My parents took us all down to San Diego, once,” Derek said. “We went to the zoo. It’s incredible there.” 

Derek talked about his family, and Stiles was struck by how well Derek was held together now, compared to how he’d been when Stiles was in high school. It was hard to remember that even though Derek had seemed so much older back then, that he should have had his shit together, he was younger than Stiles was now, and Stiles had _none_ of his shit together. 

Add that to the mess that was past and fresh grief, it was frankly pretty amazing that Derek had shit together enough to get out of bed most days back then. 

After the zoo the went and got pitas for dinner.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, unable to drop of train of thought from earlier. 

“About what?” Derek asked. 

“What shits Scott and I were back in high school.” He shrugged. 

Derek through back his head and laughed for long time. Too long, in Stiles’s opinion. It wasn’t that funny. 

When he was done laughing he wiped at his eyes, which was just overkill. “Thanks,” Derek said. “I needed that.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. 

 

\- 

 

Derek was apparently an ungodly early riser, and shook stiles awake at barely six in the morning, handed him a cup of coffee and hustled him into the passenger seat of the Jeep. Stiles blinked blearily at the nearly dark roads, and managed to keep his eyes open until they hit the highway. 

He woke again around 10:30. The coffee Derek gave him earlier was stone cold, but Stiles forced down several gulps until he felt a little more awake. 

“Where are we?” he asked, his voice scratchy. 

“Almost out of Ohio,” Derek said. 

“Oh,” Stiles said. “Good.” 

They stopped for breakfast just inside the in Indiana border, and Stiles scarfed down a hot and delicious breakfast burrito. He burned the inside of his mouth. 

They switched after that, Stiles settling in behind the wheel, and Derek napping. It was quiet, but not the forced awkward kind of the day before. Derek looked soft and comfortable, despite the awkward angle of his neck, and Stiles was delighted to learn he snored a little bit. Quiet almost not there snuffles that made Stiles want to pinch his nose a little bit. 

Derek woke up when Stiles stopped to get gas, and the played 20 Questions for the rest of the trip, which Stiles was terrible at and Derek was some kind of _guru_.

“How?” Stiles asked when Derek guessed Stiles’s right sock after only five questions. “No, seriously, how? Do you have some kind of mind reading powers I don’t know about?” 

Derek smirked. It was no less annoying than it had been the previous six rounds. “You telegraph your answers like crazy,” he said. “You’re so excited to have thought of something, it’s adorable.” 

Stiles sputtered for several minutes, but they played again. 

Stiles had never been to Chicago before, but apparently Derek had. After the fire when he and Laura were crisscrossing the country for several years, they stayed in the city once for a few months. 

There’s a Cubs game at Wrigley Field. Derek and Stiles scalped tickets and sat in the nosebleed section. Stiles complained that it was all well and good for Derek’s superior werewolf eyes, but for Stiles’s puny human eyes it wasn’t the same.

Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles’s neck and covered his mouth with his large palm. Stiles manfully resisted the urge to lick it. 

They drank beer, ate hot dogs. When the game was over, they went down to the Pier and the Skydeck at Willis Tower (Stiles somehow completely missed the fact that it had been renamed), and he tried to remember that he wasn’t on a date. 

The city was lit up beneath them, and they stood on the observational platform looking at the tiny ant people below them. Stiles squished several cars between his fingers and elbowed Derek in the ribs nonstop until he agreed to do it too. 

They made their way back to the hotel slowly, the shoulders brushing as they walked down the still busy streets. Stiles balled his hands into fists to keep himself from reaching out and taking Derek’s hand. 

They stayed a second day in the city, wandering around the busy streets, eating street meat, and lounging in Millenium Park. By the time they make it back to their hotel it was late, and Stiles was the good kind of sleepy that came from spending a day in the sun. 

“If you wake me up before seven there’s going to be hell to pay,” he told Derek seriously once they were settled back in their hotel room. _Anchorman_ was playing quietly in the background. 

“Fine,” Derek huffed. 

 

\- 

 

The drive through Illinois and Iowa was long and boring. They made it to Lincoln, Nebraska, after six and both Derek and Stiles were exhausted. 

They visit the Capitol buildings which aren’t too exciting and then decide to go to a bar. Stiles makes the executive decision that he is getting drunk. 

(In retrospect, a terrible decision.) 

After about four beers and several shots (Stiles was now too drunk to remember how many exactly), Derek pulled him to his feet and herded him out into the crisp night air. 

“This seems familiar,” Stiles said. 

“You’ve been here before?” Derek asked with a steadying hand on Stiles’s back. 

“No,” Stiles said, drawing out the word for a couple long beats. “This.” He gestures emphatically between the two of them. “We almost made out that one time. Right? I think. I think that happened. Did that happen?” 

Stiles can’t decipher the expression on Derek’s face. It looks halfway between shock and embarrassment. Like most other looks, it suits him. 

“You remember that?” Derek asked eventually. 

“Yes,” Stiles said, and let the s sound drag for a long time. Too long probably. He threw his arms up in victory. “I knew it,” he said. “I knew that happened, and I didn’t just imagine it.” 

He poked Derek in the chest. “I knew it.” 

Derek nodded. 

That was the last thing he remembered. Derek blissfully did not wake Stiles until ten the next morning, but even with the extra hours of sleep, he still felt like shit. 

“I’m going to puke,” he said seriously, before running to the bathroom. 

After, he brushed his teeth and gulped down two glasses of water. It helped. Barely. 

“Feel any better?” Derek asked. 

Stiles groaned. 

They were slow getting on the road, mostly because Stiles felt very seriously like he might vomit again if he was forced to be in a moving vehicle before he was absolutely ready. 

“So,” Stiles said somewhere in the middle of Nebraska. “About that time we almost made out.” 

It was a good thing that Stiles was driving because Derek jerked so violently he would have probably run them off the road had he been behind the wheel. 

Stiles cackled. “Now that I know it happened, I have some questions.” 

“Like?” Derek asked, still looking kind of sketchy. 

“Like what were you doing in that club in the first place? How come you never said anything about it afterward?” 

“I can’t go to clubs?” Derek asked, grumpily. 

Which, point. Stiles didn’t really know all that much about Derek’s life. By his own choice, Scott only kept him up to date on the bare minimum of werewolf life, and Scott never thought that Derek was part of that. 

“Okay,” Stiles said. “So why did you never say anything after?” 

Derek shrugged. “It,” he sighed. “It didn’t seem worth it.” 

“Oh,” Stiles said, hurt. 

“No, that’s not what I meant.” He groaned. “You were in New York, Stiles. I’ve seen you like, what? Three times since you left for school?” 

“Four,” Stiles mumbled. 

For some reason, Derek smiled at that. “Fine, four times. What was I supposed to say? Do you want to go on a date with me? Oh right, you can’t because you live five thousand miles away. And it’s not like I’m the only one. You could have said something any time too.” 

“You want to go on a date with me?” he asked, taking his eyes off the road to look at Derek’s face. 

“ _That’s_ what you took away from all that?” Derek asked. 

“Of course,” Stiles said. “That’s only the most important part.” 

Derek rolled his eyes. “It’s really not.” 

“It really _is_ ,” Stiles said. “I’m not five thousand miles away now.” 

Derek nodded, and--fuck it. Stiles pulled over to the side of the road. 

“What are you doing?” Derek asked. 

Stiles didn’t answer, just unfastened his seatbelt, and awkwardly climbed over into Derek’s lap. “Hi,” he said. “Wanna makeout?” 

Derek stared at him dumbfounded and Stiles had a moment to panic, thinking he had made a mistake and the rest of the trip was going to be ruined. Instead, Derek slid his hands up Stiles’s back and cupped his neck, pulling Stiles in. He had a moment to drop his gaze down to Derek’s parted lips before they were kissing. 

Stiles did his fair share of kissing in college, but either he was kissing wrong or Derek was special because all he could think for a long time was, oh. Oh, oh _oh_. 

Derek’s lips were soft against his own, and warm. He licked along Stiles’s bottom lip, and he gasped. Derek bit him, and sucked Stiles’s tongue into his mouth, and he couldn’t help the groan that escaped him. It sounded loud in contrast to the quiet in the car. The only sound was their breathing, and Stiles rocked his hips against Derek’s. 

“Fuck,” Derek said. “Fuck Stiles, do that again.” 

Stiles did. 

They made out for a long time, Derek’s hands hot and insistent underneath Stiles’s shirt, and it wasn’t fair that they were still so far away from Denver. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Stiles said eventually. “We need to be in Denver like _yesterday_.” 

He climbed back into the driver’s seat. 

The rest of the day’s travels were long and tortuous. Derek kept reaching out to run his hand along Stiles’s thigh. Stiles slapped him away each time he did. 

“Do you want me to pull over again?” Stiles asked. 

Derek arched his eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be a threat?” 

Stiles laughed. 

They finally made it to their hotel just past nine. 

“Want to go see some sights?” Stiles asked. 

Derek growled and pushed him into the room. 

Like every other place they stopped at, their room had two queen sized beds. Derek pushed him down on the one closest to the door and kicked off his shoes before climbing on top of him. 

Stiles bucked up when Derek’s weight settled across his hips. Derek put his hands low on Stiles’s belly and pushed his shirt all the way up to his armpits. Stiles raised his arms over his head, and lifted his shoulders so Derek could tug the garment off. He pulled it up and over, but left it tangled around Stiles’ wrists, holding him down. 

“Fuck,” he said. “Stiles you look so good.” 

“You too,” Stiles said, arching. “You too.” 

Derek pulled his shirt off, and settled firmly over Stiles’s torso. They both groaned at the bare skin on skin contact. Derek kissed his mouth, and along his jaw, sucked a bruise just behind his ear, before trailing his lips down Stiles’s throat and chest. Stiles pushed into the contact. 

When he reached Stiles’s belt, he paused only for a moment to make eye contact. Stiles nodded emphatically and Derek unbuckled him, and pushed his pants down his hips. Stiles kicked his legs a few times until they were down past his knees. 

Derek leaned in and sucked on Stiles’s cock right through the fabric of his briefs. Stiles let out a shameless moan and pressed up into it. Derek sucked and licked at his erection, and Stiles struggled to free his hands which were still tangled in his shirt above his head.

When he was free, he lowered them to Derek’s hair and pulled. Derek pressed his face harder into Stiles’s groin, then pulled at the elastic band of his briefs, freeing Stiles’s dick. 

They sat there just panting for a moment. 

“Derek,” he said. “Please.” 

Derek grinned up at him before leaning in and sucking Stiles’s whole cock into his mouth like it was _nothing_. 

“Fucking, shit!” Stiles exclaimed, his hips pumping up once before Derek laid his forearm across Stiles’s body holding him down. 

Derek gave head like he fucking _lived_ for it. Stiles was lucky enough to be on the receiving end of a not too shabby number of blowjobs, but Derek sucked cock like he wanted to die while doing it. 

Stiles only had the briefest moment to warn Derek with a shout (he’d been sitting in a vehicle for _hours_ with a hard on, okay?) before he was coming thick and hot down Derek’s throat. Some come leaked out the sides of Derek’s mouth, and Stiles pulled more insistently on Derek’s hair until he came up and kissed Stiles just as messily. 

Stiles reached between them to undo Derek’s belt and zipper, and grabbed his dick in firm hold. Derek thrust into his grip several times before he reached between them and pulled Stiles’ hands over his head and held him down while he thrust frantically into the slick spot between his groin and thigh. 

He came only moments later, and they laid together for a long time, come and spit cooling between their bodies. 

Stiles pulled sharply on Derek’s hair again until he turned his face towards Stiles. 

“That was fucking awesome,” Stiles said, and kissed him.

Eventually, the two of them made it into the shower where Stiles rimmed and fingered Derek through a second orgasm, and when he was done Derek jerked him off. They collapsed together into the other bed (no wet spot!), and passed out. 

Stiles made an executive decision to spend a second day in Denver, but he hoped to fuck no one asked him what was worth doing in Denver because he didn’t have the slightest clue (besides Derek, of course. Pun fully intended). They left the bed only once to get food, and by the time they went to sleep Stiles was exhausted and sore and so fucking delighted he could not stop smiling if he tried. 

In the morning they dress slowly, hands seeking to brush up against the other person’s shoulder, back. Stiles takes a moment to pinch Derek’s truly glorious ass. 

The drive to Nevada was always going to be the longest stretch of the trip, but there was no way Stiles was driving all the way across the country and skipping Las Vegas. It just wasn’t happening. 

The trip was made even longer by the numerous extra stops they made to makeout, and on one occasion Stiles sucked Derek’s dick, maybe not with the same kind of skill Derek had used, but with at least equal gusto. Derek licked the come taste out of his mouth and jerked Stiles off with messy, uneven strokes. 

Derek was behind the wheel when they finally made it to the outskirts of Las Vegas, and he pulled off to the side. Stiles thought they were going to fool around again, but instead Derek left the headlights on, and the two of them sat on the Jeep’s hood just staring out into the desert. 

“So,” Stiles said. The night was silent except for the occasional car rushing by. He reached out and took Derek’s hand. “Werewolves.” 

Derek nodded. “Werewolves.” 

“Are you...” Stiles hesitated, not sure how to ask what he was thinking. “Are you and Scott making it work okay?” 

Derek paused before answering. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s not what I’m used to, not by a long shot. I’m not sure you could even really call us a pack. We’re figuring it out, though. We’ve been figuring it out.” 

“And,” Stiles asked, wanting to be selfish. “And is it less?” he settled on. 

Derek squeezed his fingers tight enough to hurt. “It is. He said. Not all the time, but we’re learning. I’m learning.” 

“That’s good,” Stiles said. “That’s good.” 

The desert was dark around them, the Jeep’s headlights creating the illusion of safety and security. Stiles thought, maybe that’s all it was--creating that facade that things were and would be okay. Maybe that’s all anyone could do. 

“Do you think we can figure it out?” Stiles asked. “You and me? With Scott, and my dad, and everything?” 

Derek leaned over and pressed his face into the crook of Stiles’s neck. Pressed his lips there in an almost too light to feel kiss. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.” 

Stiles wrapped his arm around Derek’s shoulder and they stayed there together for a long time. “Okay,” he said. “Sounds good to me.” 

 

 

-

 

In the morning they walked the strip before making their way back to Beacon Hills.

**Author's Note:**

> I did not set out to write nearly nine thousand words on road trip fic. I apologize for any inaccuracies with regards to American geography or landmarks. I looked at a map. That was pretty much the extent of my research.


End file.
